Perdition
by Revhead
Summary: When Dean's soul doesn't turn up in Heaven, Cas goes looking for him. Set after the season 9 finale


**Perdition**

Castiel was never meant to lead.

As a foot soldier of Heaven, he had excelled at following the orders given to him by his superiors. He lived a life of blind obedience and it was simple, easy.

But he had begun to doubt, and then to question, and finally to think for himself. He embraced the concept of 'Free Will' only to discover that it had been reserved for humans for a reason. Castiel did not handle the responsibility of having freedom and choice very well and he made a lot of mistakes, but he took consolation from the fact that he had helped to avert the Apocalypse.

As the humans were fond of saying, he should have quit while he was ahead.

Instead, Castiel had taken it upon himself to become the new Sherriff in Heaven, then the leader of the opposition, and then the new God. Later, he had thought he could drag his brothers back to Heaven and act as a mediator as they were forced to talk out their differences. He had even thought it was a good idea to lead an army against Metatron.

It had just been one disaster after another. Despite having the best intentions, pursuing the highest ideals and truly believing that he was doing the right thing, Castiel's every attempt to take on the mantle of leadership had resulted in chaos, destruction and death.

He should have learned his lesson by now. He wasn't cut out for this. He was just an angel, and a poor example of one. He had no right to lead.

Yet here he was, leading the remnant of the Heavenly Host. His brothers and sisters were all looking to him for guidance now that Metatron was imprisoned and all of their other leaders were dead or gone.

This was not what he wanted. Nor was he what they needed.

But there was nothing left for him on Earth, so in Heaven he would stay. And he knew that as long as he was here the Angels would follow him.

He did what he had to. He buried himself in his work, building a clear chain of command, delegating important tasks and overseeing the restoration of Heaven. Any jobs that involved returning to Earth – answering prayers, gathering the remainder of the Fallen, maintaining the world's fragile ecosystem and watching over humanity – he left to Hannah and her team to manage.

He couldn't bear to return there, or even to look down upon it. It hurt too much. It reminded him of his failure and what it had cost.

It reminded him of Dean.

So he pulled the flag of Heaven more tightly around himself and tried to view the Angel's return home as the successful completion of his mission.

But Metatron's words echoed in his head. _And for what? … one man._

There was no point in denying it. Everything Castiel had done from the moment he entered Hell in search of the Righteous Man until now had been to save Dean, to help Dean, to seek forgiveness from Dean, to defend Dean, to make Dean happy, and to convince Dean that he deserved to be saved.

Except, Castiel hadn't saved him.

Dean was dead.

And Castiel had lost more than his purpose. He had lost the one true friend he had ever had.

Dean was _dead._

Castiel knew no other way to cope than to stay as far away as possible from the memories Earth held and to pretend that he had found renewed purpose in commanding Heaven.

Sometimes, he managed to convince the other angels that he was okay, but he could never quite convince himself. And they glimpsed the truth in those moments when they would turn to seek his counsel and find that he was out wandering the fields of Heaven alone. They assumed he was grieving, and they were right. But he was also searching.

Searching for one soul in particular.

Searching for Dean.

They had re-opened the doors of Heaven, allowing passage back and forth for the angels but also freeing the human souls that had been trapped in the veil.

Dean was the Righteous Man. He was here, in Heaven, Castiel was sure of it. If he could find him, maybe they could make their peace. Maybe Castiel's guilt would ease. Maybe he wouldn't feel so lonely anymore.

But Castiel's search was in vain.

He looked everywhere. The Winchesters' Heaven was empty, abandoned. Ash had seen no sign of him. He was not sharing a corner of Heaven with his parents or Bobby and his wife or Ellen and Jo or anyone else he had known in life and could have been reunited with in death. Castiel branched out, searching through every single version of paradise the billions of human souls in residence here had generated.

He never found Dean, which could only mean one thing.

Dean's soul had never reached Heaven.

In that moment of clarity, purpose reawakened within Castiel.

Maybe he wasn't born a leader. But he knew who he was, who he had always been. He was the angel who gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

He had done it once and he would do it again. He would do it a thousand times if he had to.

He was _not_ going to let Dean rot down there. He was going to save him.

Ignoring the protests from the other angels, ignoring his weakening Grace, ignoring the danger of taking on an entire army of demons alone, Castiel dove straight into Hell.

He fought his way through fire, brimstone and the reek of death, through blood and screams, through hell hounds and demons. He fought to the deepest, darkest depths of the Pit and, at long last, he found Dean.

But Dean wasn't in chains. He wasn't on the rack. He wasn't being tortured and he wasn't even the one doing the torturing.

Cas, exhausted and confused, faltered at the sight of the man he thought he had come here to save. "Dean…?"

A slow smile curved Dean's lips. He rose from his throne of twisted bone and closed the distance between them, scattering demons in his wake. He came right up to Cas, ignoring the angel's instinctive flinch back, standing so they were barely inches apart.

"Dean-"

Dean hushed him with a finger to his lips. Cas swallowed nervously and Dean watched his throat bob before his gaze tracked slowly up to stare deeply into Castiel's eyes.

"Hey, Cas."

"Dean, what… what is going on?"

Dean tilted his head to the side, looking at him curiously. "Sam didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

For a long moment Dean said nothing, just kept staring at him with all of the intense focus Cas usually afforded him. Despite a deep sense of foreboding, Cas was entranced. He couldn't look away.

In the end, it was Dean who blinked first.

When he opened his eyes, Cas staggered back in horror.

"No. No! Dean-"

His eyes were black.

Dean was a demon.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Dean-"

"What's the matter, Cas?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dean, I am so sorry. I came here to _save _you!"

"Cas." Dean placed his hand on the angel's shoulder and squeezed gently in a familiar gesture of comfort. "You don't understand."

Cas looked into the black eyes of his best friend, anguish and revulsion roiling through his vessel at the realisation that Metatron was right.

Dean leaned in closer, whispering the truth in Castiel's ear. "I don't want to be saved."

Castiel's legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the floor, grief crashing over him. Everything he had done, all for one man.

But Dean Winchester was dead.

And the demon walked away, leaving Cas alone.


End file.
